Come awa, hie awa, Come and be mine ain, lassie; Row thee in my tartan plaid, An' fear nae wintry rain, lassie. A gowden brooch, an' siller belt, Wi' faithfu' heart I 'll gie, lassie, Gin ye will lea' your Lawland hame, For Highland hills wi' me, lassie. Come awa, &c. A bonnie bower shall be thy hame, And drest in silken sheen, lassie. Ye 'll be the fairest in the ha', And gayest on the green, lassie. Come awa, &c. ANSWER. Haud awa, bide awa, Haud awa frae me, Donald; What care I for a' your wealth, And a' that ye can gie, Donald? I wadna lea' my Lowland lad For a' your gowd and gear, Donald; Sae tak' your plaid, an' o'er the hill, An' stay nae langer here, Donald. Haud awa, &c. My Jamie is a gallant youth, I lo'e but him alane, Donald, And in bonnie Scotland's isle, Like him there is nane, Donald; Haud awa, &c. He wears nae plaid, or tartan hose, Nor garters at his knee, Donald; But oh, he wears a faithfu' heart, And love blinks in his e'e, Donald. Sae haud awa, bide awa, Come nae mair at e'en, Donald; I wadna break my Jamie's heart, To be a Highland Queen, Donald. ON THEE, ELIZA, DWELL MY THOUGHTS. AIR--_"In yon garden fine and gay."_ On thee, Eliza, dwell my thoughts, While straying was the moon's pale beam; At midnight, in my wand'ring sleep, I see thy form in fancy's dream. I see thee in the rosy morn, Approach as loose-robed beauty's queen; The morning smiles, but thou art lost, Too soon is fled the sylvan scene. Still fancy fondly dwells on thee, And adds another day of care; What bliss were mine could fancy paint Thee true, as she can paint thee fair! O fly, ye dear deceitful dreams! Ye silken cords that bind the heart;-- Canst thou, Eliza, these entwine, And smile and triumph in the smart? TO A LINNET. AIR--_"M'Gilchrist's Lament."_ Chaunt no more thy roundelay, Lovely minstrel of the grove, Charm no more the hours away, With thine artless tale of love; Chaunt no more thy roundelay, Sad it steals upon mine ear; Leave, O leave thy leafy spray, Till the smiling morn appear. Light of heart, thou quitt'st thy song, As the welkin's shadows low'r; Whilst the beetle wheels along, Humming to the twilight hour. Not like thee I quit the scene, To enjoy night's balmy dream; Not like thee I wake again, Smiling with the morning beam. THE PRIMROSE IS BONNY IN SPRING. AIR--_"The Banks of Eswal."_